


The Ransom of King Laurent

by OutOfAutumn



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-18
Updated: 2017-06-18
Packaged: 2018-11-15 17:53:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11236164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OutOfAutumn/pseuds/OutOfAutumn
Summary: King Laurent of Vere is kidnapped for ransom. His captors have no idea what they're in for.The title is a shout out to The Ransom of Red Chief, a classic story by O. Henry. This fanfic is LOOSELY inspired by that story, but you don't need to have read it to understand.





	The Ransom of King Laurent

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! What do you know, I had another idea! So I’m back.
> 
> As the summary suggests, this story was partially inspired by The Ransom of Red Chief- an O. Henry classic that I love (no, you DON’T need to read it to understand this story). Perhaps more than that, this fanfic was inspired by the new Charls short story (which you don’t need to read to understand this story, either). Reading that story made me want to experiment with the 3rd person viewpoint of Damen and Laurent’s relationship. Though there’s a lot more Laurent than Damen in this story, I feel like it still accomplishes that objective. You’ll see what I mean as you read it :) 
> 
> Just a warning: there is some very brief non-con touching in this fic. So if you're triggered by that, you might want to avoid this one. 
> 
> This is set after The Adventures of Charls story. Let's say . . . A year or so after? It really doesn’t matter. 
> 
> Enjoy!

It was too good to be true.

That was Evander’s first thought as he crested the spiral staircase and saw the blonde man folded into the narrow stone window frame that overlooked the meadows of Delpha. It was rumored that King Laurent of Vere often snuck off to this ancient, abandoned Artesian watchtower to read. Evander still had not expected him to actually be here. It did not follow the recent trend of his luck.

But there was no mistaking the laced-up, blue and gold-embroidered garment he wore, distinctly Veretian. Or that face. This was the face that was responsible for the disgusting mishmash of Akielon and Veretian customs that could be seen in every town on any given day. This was the face that was responsible for the end of the slave trade, which had brought the bite of poverty to Evander and his two brothers. This was the face that had bewitched King Damianos and ruined his judgement.

This was King Laurent of Vere, the man whose beauty was a pox on Akielos. And he was alone. Alone and, at least as far as Evander could tell, unarmed.

The blue eyes were on Evander almost as soon as his first footfall sounded on the landing. Evander went for his sword.

“Halt!” he cried, extending his blade.

Laurent blinked. His finger, which had been scanning the page of the leather-backed tome he was reading, paused in the middle of the page. His eyes swept Evander from head to toe. They were not wide with fear, nor bright with tears. In fact, the King looked bored.

Evander swallowed, feeling as though his mouth was filled with cotton.

“This is-" Evander began. His voice came out a little shakier that he’d intended, so he started again. “This is a kidnapping. If you do not cooperate, you will be killed. Is that understood?”

King Laurent murmured something and looked down at his book.

“I told you not to move!” Evander lunged forward. Now his blade was mere inches from the delicate throat.

“I just need to mark my place,” the King said, folding down the corner of the rightmost page.

Evander knew what his brother Toribio would have done- something violent, something to punish King Laurent for his pertness. But it was obvious that the King was only doing exactly as he said – marking his place. Once he was finished, he closed the book and set it aside on the window frame. He stared at Evander with his long legs crossed and his lovely eyes steady.

“Stand up,” Evander commanded.

The King moved gracefully, a silk ribbon unfurling from the window frame. He stood.

“Turn around. Cross your wrists behind your back.”

The King hesitated.

Evander felt his heart in his throat. He moved his blade closer, until the edge grazed King Laurent’s neck. “Now!”

Sighing, King Laurent did as he was bid, keeping his ice-chip glare over his shoulder and on Evander’s blade.

“If this is indeed a kidnapping and not a murder,” Laurent said, every word as sharp as a thrown dagger, “I'd suggest you move your sword a little further away from my throat.”

“Quiet!” Evander hissed. But he did move his sword a few inches back. His entire body was trembling rather badly, a phenomenon that grew worse the longer King Laurent fixed him with that sour gaze. His brothers would not be trembling like this. His brothers would have already given the King a cut or two to show him who was in charge.

Despite knowing in his heart that this slippery snake of a King deserved it, it didn’t feel right to. Not while he was cooperating . . . Or, at least, cooperating somewhat.

Laurent cleared his throat. “Are we just here to admire the view, or are you going to get on with it?”

Evander sheathed his sword and pulled a length of rope from the folds of his chiton. He tied Laurent’s wrists, using the knowledge of knots he’d gained during his failed stint as a merchant sailor. Next he bent down and began to tie Laurent’s ankles. That's when the King started shaking.

“What is it?” Evander asked. He looked up, sure that this was his fault. He’d accidentally cut an artery after all. Or maybe he’d tied the King’s wrists too tight and caused an epileptic fit. King Damianos would never pay out the ransom if Laurent were mortally harmed.

Quite the contrary. King Laurent was laughing.

“Oh dear Lord,” he said, shaking his head back and forth, chortling through his words. “You're really bad at this, aren't you?”

Evander’s face burned. He wanted to tell him to shut up. More than that, he wanted to know why he was being laughed at. But if he asked it might make him seem stupid, and if he wanted to maintain a shred of respect, he could not afford that. He finished tying the king’s ankles and stood.

His eyes fell on the staircase.

The reason for Laurent’s laughter was suddenly obvious.

“Oh, no,” the king said, doubled over with laughter.  “Whatever will you do?”

Evander looked down, unwilling to reveal his heated cheeks to his captive. It was a troubling situation indeed. He could slice through the rope on Laurent’s ankles, but then that would be acknowledging his mistake. He could force Laurent to hop down the staircase, but that would most likely end with a dead or severely maimed captive, which his brothers would never forgive him for.

Or . . .

Evander grabbed Laurent around the waist and hoisted him over his shoulder, holding him in place by looping an arm around the back of his thighs. The laughter ceased, replaced by a hiss of surprise and several gusts of heavy breathing. The King was clearly uncomfortable. That made it worth it, though Evander could not maintain this hold for long. King Laurent was sturdier-built than he looked. He started for the staircase.

“Wait!” Laurent cried.

“What is it now?” Evander took a quick glance out the window. It was dusk, and would be nighttime soon - the ideal time to make his getaway, for it would take a very keen eye to see two men on a black horse against an ebony sky. But there was no telling when King Laurent was expected back at the palace. Soon there would hardly be enough light left in the sky to read by, so he couldn't have planned on staying much longer. King Damianos was not known to be cruel. Yet it was well-known that he was fiercely protective of his Veretian consort. If he were to come here to investigate, and find Evander still nearby--

“We’re forgetting my book,” Laurent said.

“That’s the last thing you should be worried about.”

“What a shame. It's one of a kind,” almost as an afterthought, Laurent added, “Worth a fortune.”

“Oh, all right.” Evander turned around and grabbed the book. It nearly slipped out of his one-handed grasp, and he only stopped it from hitting the floor by trapping it against the wall with his hip. It was the heaviest book he'd ever held. Never mind that it had roughly a thousand pages - it felt like he was hoisting a small statue.

After a quick flip-through to reassure himself that there were no weapons hidden inside, he tucked it under his free arm and headed back for the staircase.

 

******

 

The ride back was not as horrible as Evander had envisioned. He’d spent the whole thing snatching glances over his shoulder, sure he’d see King Damianos’s army swelling over the horizon. It never happened. There were no other riders on the craggy, sparsely-used paths he chose to get to the foothills.

If there was anything unpleasant about the ride back to the hideout, it was King Laurent’s mouth. He was tied to the saddle in front of Evander, on his stomach, so that his head dangled over one side of the horse and his legs dangled off the other. It must have been very uncomfortable to breathe, let alone talk, but that did not stop him.  Laurent did not complain, though he did point out -several times- that the ride would be much easier for them both if his ankles were untied. He criticized Evander’s worn sandals and tattered chiton. He told him he needed to bathe, because Evander’s feet were dangling right next to his nose and they smelled of rotting cow carcass.

It wasn't until they reached the hideout that Laurent finally shut up.  He lifted his head the best he could, looking around at the cluster of shallow caves that scarred the rock face. Evander saw the King’s nose wrinkle as his eyes fell on the three ratty canvas tents set up outside the caves, which surrounded a freshly burning camp fire.

“I thought your operation would be more sophisticated than this,” Laurent said. “Turns out you're just another band of common brigands.”

“If you value your life, I would suggest you watch your mouth around my brothers,” said Evander, dismounting.  

“Brothers?” Laurent sounded intrigued.

Evander chose not to respond, and instead began working through the dozens of knots it had taken to secure Laurent to the saddle.

“Well I'll be damned,” a slurred voice said from behind them.

Evander turned to see his second oldest brother, Markus, crawling out of one of the caves. He was covered in grime, a consequence of having squeezed through a cavern barely big enough to accommodate his girth. Markus would have crawled through anything, even cow manure, to get to the horde of bootlegged liquor they had stored down in that cave.

“Is that . . . is that who I think it is?” Markus asked, gesturing at Laurent with a bottle of caramel-colored spirits.

Evander nodded, pulling Laurent off the saddle and helping him balance. Laurent was looking at Markus with his lips pursed. He looked as he had when Evander had crested the crumbling stone staircase: Unimpressed.

“You've actually done it,” Markus said, dropping the bottle. It shattered and its contents soaked into the ground, but remarkably, he did not kneel to snatch it back up. “You captured the King.”

“Not my King.” Toribio.

Evander snapped his head in the direction of his oldest brother’s voice, and saw him coming out of one of the tents. Empty bottles rolled out from the mouth of the tent, proving that he too had tapped into the horde.   _ If you guys keep it up, we won’t have any left to sell,  _ Evander wanted to say. But saying anything like that to Toribio, especially  _ drunk  _ Toribio, was a promise of pain.

Evander managed to keep his head up as Toribio approached, though the effort had him trembling so badly that he felt his knees knocking together beneath his chiton. He knew Laurent could probably feel him shaking, but the King remained stone-faced.

“When I sent you to kidnap Damianos’s whore, I expected you to fail and never return,” Toribio said. His gait was conspicuously wobbly.

“I know that,” Evander sputtered. He realized that it might sound pert, so he quickly added, “I wanted to prove myself to you.”

Toribio stopped in front of them, weaving on his feet. “How in the hell did a bumbling dimwit like you pull it off?”

“Luck, I suppose.” And that's all it had truly been. When he left the hideout three days ago, he had fully expected to spend the rest of his life as a penniless nomad, living off the benevolence of Delphan farmers. It was through one of them that he’d heard about King Laurent’s occasional trips to the crumbling Artesian watchtower.

“Luck?” Toribio said. His eyes flickered between Evander and Laurent. “Or collusion?”

“No, of course not. No collusion. I would die before I’d align with the Veretian King.”

A moment of static silence passed. Toribio stared into Evander’s eyes, testing for a lie. Evander stared back. His stomach was a roiling beast, threatening to spill its contents at any second.

True to form, Laurent broke the silence. “I sense some brotherly discord.”

Toribio grabbed Laurent by the jaw and pulled him forward. Tripped by his bindings, Laurent fell to his knees.

“So the rumors are true,” Toribio said, turning Laurent's face from side to side. “You truly are exquisite.”

“How original,” Laurent deadpanned.

Evander winced, sure Toribio would knock the sass right out of the young king. But he only continued his inspection.

“It’ll be my personal honor to fuck you into delirium before returning you to Damianos,” Toribio said, smoothing a thumb over Laurent's lush lower lip. “Hopefully he doesn't mind me using his Veretian whore for its only useful purpose. We’ll say it’s part of the ransom,”

_ Oh, he will mind plenty,  _ Evander thought, wringing his hands. He saw Laurent suck in a breath to respond, but before a word could make it out of him, Toribio’s hands were on his body, groping his brocade-encased chest and moving downward. Down to a horrible destination.

“Stop this!” Evander shouted, stepping forward. It was too late.

Right before Toribio could reach his horrible destination, Laurent reared back and headbutted him.

It was a tremendous blow, producing a meaty  _ thwack  _ that echoed endlessly amongst the foothills. Toribio fell back into the dirt, clutching his nose. Blood welled between his fingers and dripped off his chin. It pattered onto the powdery, sunbaked dirt.

“Oops,” Laurent said. “Did I have a spasm?”

There was a bloody smudge on Laurent’s forehead, but it was hard to tell whether it was his blood or Toribio’s. That distinction became even harder when Toribio rocked back to his feet and tackled Laurent, pinning him to the ground.

Evander’s horse started to fret. He reached back to calm it, to move its pounding hooves away from the two men’s heads. He saw Toribio wind back his fist.

He reached out. “No, Toribio, don’t-”

The blow landed on Laurent’s right cheekbone, snapping his head to the side. The next fell on his left cheekbone. Still holding his horse’s reins, Evander could only watch helplessly as Toribio rained blows on King Laurent, torn between stopping the beating or releasing his frightened horse into the encroaching night.

After what seemed like forever but was probably only seconds, Toribio pulled back, swiping a wrist across his brow. “I’m going to beat you until you are so disfigured that King Damianos does not want you back,” he hissed.

Laurent coughed. “Oh? So it's worth forfeiting the ransom you hoped to collect?” He lifted his head and looked at Evander and Markus, blinking through the rain of blood that dripped on him from Toribio’s ruined nose. “Have you spoken to your accomplices about this?”

“I don’t need to speak to them about anything!”

Laurent dropped his head back down and inhaled loudly, as though utterly scandalized. “So you haven't.”

“Shut up,” Toribio snarled, driving his knee up. Laurent coiled his body in just enough time to save his balls. Toribio raised his fist again, this time clearly aiming for King Laurent’s perfectly-formed nose.

To hell with the horse. “Stop!” Evander cried, stepping forward.

Toribio looked up. His face was so red that the blood coming from his nose hardly stood out.

“Step back, or you're next,” he growled.

Evander’s first instinct was to do as he said, because he knew that look on Toribio’s face. Knew it from countless altercations - altercations that had left him with a crooked nose and several deep scars on his face. But then Laurent coughed. Evander looked at the King’s bloody, discolored face and realized he could not step away. This was nothing like he’d intended.

“Come on, Toribio,” Markus said, his bottle sloshing as he spread his hands in supplication. In all the excitement, he’d somehow still managed to claim more liquor. “If we rough him up too bad, King Damianos is more likely to kill us than pay us.”

_ I’d say we’ve already crossed that mark,  _ Evander thought, gulping.

Toribio looked between Markus and Evander. Evander’s heart pounded so forcefully that his head began to ache, but he stood next to Markus and weathered every glare.  

Lastly, Toribio looked down at Laurent.

_ Don't say anything, _ Evander’s mind chanted at the King.  _ For once in your life, keep your mouth shut! _

“Very well. But he sleeps in my tent tonight,” Toribio said, spitting on the ground next to Laurent’s head. He stood up, yanking Laurent up by the elbow, forgetting or disregarding the fact that he was still tied.

Laurent swung a clump of golden hair out of his eyes and looked at Evander. For the first time that night, he looked a little worried.

“I’ll have my book now,” he said.

Evander squinted, wondering at what point he had misheard him.  _ “What _ ? _ ” _

“My book. The one I was reading when you so rudely interrupted me.” When Evander didn’t respond immediately, Laurent glanced briefly up at Toribio and said, “You know, the one that’s worth a fortune?”

Toribio’s nostrils flared, which was never a good sign. “You’re hiding loot from me?”

“Of course not!” Evander cried. “I was just--”  _  Surprised. Surprised that he cares about a measly book when he’s about to be raped in every orifice.  _ “I’ll get it.”

His horse had fled, but not very far. He came across it standing in a dead end between two crumbled piles of rock.  In the time it took him to calm the horse and collect the book from the saddle bag, he thought about what was about to happen. He thought about all the things he could do to stop it. He could confront Toribio; he could say it was  _ his  _ right to have the first night’s use of King Laurent. But that would be mighty suspicious, seeing as how he had never taken a male lover before. He could ask Markus for help. But Markus wouldn’t care about the type of violence that didn’t leave marks, and he wouldn’t care about clemency for the King of Vere.

In the end, there was nothing he could do. Not if he wanted to avoid Toribio’s wrath.

He pulled the book out of his saddlebag, and was again startled by the weight. It felt no less heavy with two hands holding it. He brought it to Toribio with his head bowed, unable to meet King Laurent’s eyes. 

 

******

 

There was no hope of sleep.

Evander lay with his eyes on the ceiling of his tent, blinking into the darkness, trying not to imagine the horrific things that were going on in the neighboring tent. He couldn’t hear anything, but that didn’t mean much. The howling wind made it hard to hear anything.

It would almost be better if he  _ could  _ hear, because then he would know beyond a shadow of a doubt what he needed to feel guilty for. Assault, or rape  _ and  _ assault?

_ He deserves this,  _ he told himself over and over again. This was the man who had destroyed his family just by batting his eyes at King Damianos. The man who had reduced them to this. Yet no matter how many times he told himself this, sleep remained a stranger.

He couldn’t be sure how much time had passed - Minutes? Hours? - when he heard rustling outside his tent.

Evander snapped his head over to the tent flaps. He saw a shifting black shadow outside of them, unmistakably man-shaped. He gathered his blanket to his shoulders and reached for his sword.

The tent flaps parted. A slim, blonde figure was crouched between them, silhouetted by moonlight.

King Laurent.

Evander sprang up, rubbing his eyes. The image did not disappear. The King’s hands were still tied behind his back, and he had been gagged with a piece of cloth. He was nudging himself forward on his knees. It was painfully slow progress, as his ankles were still tied, and he soon got tripped up on one of the blankets spread within the tent. He flopped onto his belly.

Unthinking, Evander leaned forward and rolled him over. The open tent flap allowed a beam of moonlight to wash over Laurent. The King's face was remarkably pristine, given what he’d been through only hours earlier. The first blow had left its signature - a bruised cut on his right cheekbone. Other than that, he was unmarked, save for a small bruise over his left eye, a swollen bottom lip, and some smears of dried blood. His jacket was gone. He was wearing only a Veretian-style undershirt, which clung to perspiration on his stomach and sides.

“What are you doing here?” Evander asked. He suddenly felt sick to his stomach. “Did Toribio let you leave?”

Laurent only stared up at him, chest heaving. After a moment, he flashed one of those terrifying ice-chip glares and grunted loudly behind the gag.

_ Oh _ . Evander reached over and took the gag out of the King’s mouth. Laurent sputtered, coughed, and licked his dry lips, maneuvering himself into a sit.

“What are you doing here?” Evander repeated.

“Given a choice between a drunk, a violent pervert, and you, I thought this was the most auspicious alternative.”

Evander blinked, unsure whether or not that was an insult. “How did you get past Toribio?”

“An opportunity arose, and I took it.”

Evander wanted to ask for clarification. After all, he needed to know if he should expect a furious Toribio to come flying into the tent at any second. But when he looked at Laurent, who was still breathing a little heavily and looked slightly dazed, a more important question came to mind.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

Laurent looked at him with his lips slightly parted, as though the question caught him off guard. After a second, he nodded and said, “Fortunately, he was so soused that he barely managed to land a solid hit.”

Evander swallowed, nodding. But that wasn’t exactly what he’d meant. “Did he . . . Have his way with you?”

Laurent laughed softly and shook his head. “Again, we can thank your generous stash of liquor. He fell into a drunken slumber before he could satisfy his lust. But not before-" he tipped his chin down, probably indicating his lack of a jacket.

Evander closed his eyes and sighed. It came out a lot louder than he had anticipated, but it was still not proportionate to the magnitude of his relief. It felt like a boulder as massive as King Damianos had just rolled off his shoulders.

When he opened his eyes, Laurent was watching him. Not glaring, just watching, the way a man might watch a card game he was trying to learn.

“Tell me something,” Laurent said.

It wasn't a request; it was an order.

“Your behavior is inconsistent,” he continued. “You kidnapped me, and brought me here, and now you seem appalled at the way I am being treated. Did you honestly think it would be otherwise?”

The words were more than a little venomous, and Evander found that he could not answer. He was too ashamed to give the true answer, which was  _ no.  _ Of course he had known Toribio would be incapable of treating him decently. Toribio was incapable of treating  _ anyone  _ decently. But at the time, getting back into his brothers’ good graces seemed more important than anything else. His thoughts hadn’t moved passed that one obstruction.

Laurent wasn’t done. “You kidnapped me, and now you’re acting as though you wish you hadn’t.”

“I'm not sure I know what you mean,” Evander said. It was the only thing he could think to say.

“You intervened on my behalf more than once tonight.”

“Yes.”

“Why? It was far from beneficial to you. That charming brother of yours doesn't seem like the type to forgive easily.”

Evander brought his knees to his chest and folded his arms around them. “Because I brought you here for one purpose only: as a means to seek restitution for our financial ruin. It need not go further than that.”

“‘Your financial ruin?’ Care to elaborate?”

Evander’s first instinct was to remain silent - after all, there really was no reason to tell King Laurent anything. It wasn’t like he would care. It was  _ his  _ ideas and  _ his  _ sexual wiles that had led them all to this point, and even if Evander’s words did provoke Laurent’s sympathy, it wasn’t likely to last once he was released back into the arms of King Damianos.

But King Laurent was here. Here, with nothing else to listen to but the shriek of the wind and the rattle of the tent flaps. This was a private audience with a King. Maybe it wasn't King Damianos, but it was the closest he would ever get.

He started his story with the end of the slave trade: the awful day when the business that had nurtured their family fortune for generations suddenly became illegal. A sprawling ranch and the greatest peasant estate in Delpha had dwindled into nothing almost overnight. He had thought he would never see anything more painful than the auctioning off of his family’s valuables, but then his brothers had started drinking. The liquor turned once-dependable Markus into a lazy slob, and depleted what little bit of goodness Toribio naturally possessed.

“For a while, my brothers and I tried legitimate means to get by. Cloth trading. Smithing. Merchant sailing.” Evander had to pause to suppress a shudder. “But the alliance between Akielos and Vere created an abundance of opportunities for many merchants--”

“Yes, you’re welcome,” Laurent said, without smiling.

Evander cleared his throat. “An abundance of opportunities for many merchants, which created more and more competition. We didn’t have the skills to compete with them.  And I couldn't keep my brothers away from the bottle, which confounded things even worse.”

It was Toribio’s idea to start stealing. They'd started with small things at first, such as rare bolts of cloth from a merchant’s wagon, sold in back alleys where prostitutes and beggars roamed. From there, Toribio had advanced to bigger things: livestock, wagons, jewels. Their last and latest venture was the liquor heist. It was a lucky find; the wagon holding it had been intercepted on a sparsely-used back road that led to the palace at Delpha. 

“Interesting,” said Laurent. “I thought you Akielons were fond of doing things the simple way.”

Evander frowned, again unsure if he was being insulted. “The simple way?”

“You could have gone to King Damianos and petitioned for assistance. He may look like a giant animal, but in reality, he’s a great sap.”

Laurent smiled. It was a quick, involuntary grin that transformed his face, turning it from merely lovely to implausibly gorgeous. In that smile, Evander could see what had domesticized the famously virile, mythically polyamorous King Damianos. There was no reason to keep seeking out lovers when the most splendid conquest of all was clearly head-over-heels for him.   

Evander shook his head to clear the strange, scintillating filter that had drifted over his eyes. “Damianos would never have listened to us,” he said.  

“What makes you say that?”

“Because we were slave traders. His first decree as King was to state that no mercy or exceptions would be granted.”

“You underestimate the man’s ability to grant a second chance,” Laurent said, looking away. Past the carefully-schooled composure and the even tone, he sounded a little sullen.

_ He must really miss him,  _ Evander thought, and felt another stab of guilt.

“And so, you kidnapped me to get revenge,” Laurent said. “You wanted him to know what it felt like to lose something dear to him. The ransom is just a dividend. Is that it?”

Evander almost shook his head. He had personally only been in on it for the latter of those two things, and even that was secondary to the desire to prove himself to his brothers. Yet, telling his story had embedded an honesty into the air between them. He wanted to divulge everything he’d ever felt about the loss of his family’s fortune: the anger, the disgust, the betrayal. King Laurent was in front of him, tied and helpless, with no choice but to listen. It was a chance that would never come again.

Why not get to the heart of things? “King Damianos was a reasonable man, once. Until he took you into his bed.”

Laurent’s lips twisted. “You Akielons do like to get to the point, don’t you?”

“If he had never met you, none of this would have happened,” Evander continued. “Not the end of the slave trade. Not the opening of our borders. Not the influx of so many traders to compete with Akielon merchants. Not the loss of my family’s fortune.”

“Maybe that’s true. But if he hadn’t have met me, he would not be King at all. Would that have been preferable to you?”

Evander barked a bitter laugh, startled by the brazenness. “You speak of yourself in very high esteem.”

King Laurent lifted his chin, a gesture made no less haughty by the fact that he was trussed up like a criminal. “In this, I am being humble.”

Evander’s mouth opened and closed, groping for some sort of retort. But that was just it: there was nothing he  _ could  _ say. King Laurent’s surety was as final as the slam of a coffin lid.

“Despite every harm you say I’ve caused, you still spoke up for me. _Twice,”_ King Laurent said, clearly done with the prior detour of the conversation. “Tell me why. The real reason.”

“I’d never stand by and allow a man to be raped and beaten in front of me. No matter what his crime.”

The King narrowed his eyes. “Says the man who kidnapped me at sword point.”

Again, Evander’s blank mind ransacked for a retort. Again, there was nothing to say, so he simply dropped his head and looked at the ground. The moonlight was growing ever brighter as the night progressed, casting its silvery sheen through the thin canvas walls of the tent. It lent an ethereal haze to their conversation. Tomorrow morning, it would be hard to judge whether it had happened at all. 

“You remind me of someone,” King Laurent said.

“Who?” Evander expected another half-insult. 

The King didn’t answer. He only looked to the side and stared at some distant, unseen thing. The moonlight caressed his face and highlighted the upturned corners of his mouth, betraying an almost imperceptible smile. 

“Let’s get some sleep, shall we?” Laurent finally said, twisting and undulating his bound body until he was in a position that resembled a somewhat-comfortable recline. “I think tomorrow will be a very long day.”

It was an unequivocal dismissal. Evander laid down; there was nothing else to do. He stared at the ceiling of the tent again, though his chest no longer felt heavy. His mind, however, was as turbulent as a stormy sea. The conversation with King Laurent seemed to have solved nothing, and everything at the exact same time. Maybe that was the point. 

_ You underestimate the man’s ability to grant a second chance, _ King Laurent had said. And then:  _ If he hadn’t have met me, he would not be King at all.  _

What had it meant?

It meant that he would be up all night, trying to figure it out. He was no closer to piecing it together two hours later, when he finally fell into a deep, exhausted sleep. 

 

******

 

When Evander’s eyes sprang open, it was mid-afternoon. He knew by the sunlight stabbing into his tent and the light sheen of sweat that coated his skin, settling in the places that were most closely covered by his chiton. 

King Laurent was gone. 

He sat up, whipping his head this way and that. Nowhere. He lifted the blankets, thinking Laurent might have wriggled underneath one to escape the night’s chill. Not there, either. 

The revelation hit him like a brick to the face: _ Toribio.  _

He must have come and collected his prize in the middle of the night. For whatever reason, Laurent had not put up a fight this time, and now he was enduring God-knew-what at the hands of a lunatic. 

Evander sprang up and out of the tent, leaving the grogginess of sleep far behind him. The sunlight struck like a bundle of tacks thrown into his eyes. In the moment he spent blinking, he heard movement. Grunting. A metallic rasping that could have been- probably was- the sound of a sword being pulled from its sheath. 

He turned around and blundered forward, tripping over the corner of his own tent. He fell into the scattered remains of the campfire. When he raised his head, spitting out ashes, his vision had adjusted enough for him to see his brothers’ tents. 

Both were wide open, the flaps dancing in the breeze. There was nobody inside. 

“Markus?” He asked, squinting and craning his neck. “Toribio?” 

No answer. 

He pulled himself to his feet and turned in place. There was nobody around, not his brothers, not King Laurent. The campgrounds were in disarray. There were empty bottles thrown everywhere, many of them broken. It looked as though his brothers had been up all night, engaging in drunken revelry by the fireside. It would normally not surprise him if such a thing had happened. Yet he had been up half the night with King Laurent, and had heard nothing but the roar of the wind. 

_ The roar of the wind.  _ That was it. It’d been loud enough to drown out everything. 

Because it was his last alternative, he headed for the caverns. The only one big enough to contain a human body was the one the liquor was stored in - which was just as well, because where else would his brothers be? 

He crouched down in front of the cavern’s mouth. It was too dark to see anything but the dull reflection of the sun off dozens of dirty bottles. He squinted, but it didn’t help. He crept closer. 

Something sharp and cold pressed against his neck. 

A blade.  

“Back up slowly,” said a clipped, cultured, familiar voice.

Evander froze. He still didn’t quite believe it until the voice’s—and the sword’s—owner rounded alongside him, positioning the sword as he stepped so that the blade remained pressed against Evander’s throat. It was, of course, Laurent. The bindings on his wrists and ankles were gone. He looked fresh and clean, as though he had spent the morning soaking in the mountain stream that ran adjacent to their campsite. Perhaps he had.

There was but one thing marring Laurent’s impeccable visage: a splatter of half-dried blood across his stomach. It stood out against the bright white of his shirt. 

Bile rose into the back of Evander’s throat. “King Laurent?” It came out sounding like a plea. 

“That’s  _ Your Majesty  _ to you,” Laurent said, stepping forward. The prick of the blade forced Evander a couple of steps back. “And I’d appreciate it if you’d comply with my demands. The last few hours have not left me in the best of moods.” 

“Toribio!” Evander called, before he could stop himself. When that didn’t work, he stepped back again and yelled, “Markus!”

“Scream all you want, they cannot answer.” 

Evander tripped over something and fell backwards. He hit his rear so hard that his teeth clicked, and when he opened his eyes, they were filled with water. 

The world was blurry, but he still recognized the object he’d tripped over. Laurent’s book was laying on the ground next to the campfire, the leather cover peeled back. When Evander saw what lay beneath, he cursed himself for not thinking of it before, because of course he should have known. It had been  _ so heavy.  _

There, glinting in the sunlight, was a serrated metal plate. The edge was crusted with dried blood. It was adhered to the first page of the tome, which had been tucked within the thick burgundy leather binding. The plate was invisible to those who weren't looking for it. For those who  _ were _ , it would only have been a matter of untucking the edge of the leather and working it loose. Not a difficult task, even for bound hands. 

A weapon. Sharp enough to cut through rope. Sharp enough to cut through  _ anything. . .  _ Even  _. . .  _

Blackness encroached on either side of Evander’s vision, until all he could see was the splash of blood on Laurent’s shirt. “My brothers . . . did you-”

“Don't worry about them. They're exactly where they want to be.” Laurent gestured toward the cavern with his chin. 

Evander’s skin went clammy. He hadn’t seen anything when he'd looked inside the cavern, but that didn't mean much. It was too dark to see anything that wasn't reflective. But he hadn't _ heard  _ anything, either. 

“You killed them?” 

Laurent flashed a smile that could have been charming, were it not for the bloodstain. “What do you take me for? They’re only bound and gagged. I haven't decided what to do with them yet. That depends on you.” 

“What do you-”

“Stand up.”

“But . . . my brothers-”

“Do as I say.” 

As helpless as a marionette on a string, Evander stood. Laurent stepped closer to him, angling the sword up so the blade did not bite. Evander searched Laurent’s beautiful blue eyes. They were as one-dimensional as dirty coins, without a hint of the humanity that had sparkled in them last night. 

“Your brothers will stay until I send my soldiers up for them,” Laurent said, tossing the sword aside. “As for you . . .” 

He pulled something out of the waistband of his pants. Evander was not surprised to see that they were Veretian-style laces, the same gold ones that had been laced through Laurent’s own jacket the night before. 

As his wrists were tied behind his back, Evander realized with some chagrin that the other laces were probably in the cave with his brothers, binding them just as effectively. If Laurent’s missing jacket was indeed a product of Toribio’s lust, the laces would have been simply cut through, not left functionally intact. But that didn't explain everything. When Laurent came to Evander’s tent last night, hadn't he still been bound? Gagged? If he’d taken the time to free himself and tie up Toribio, why had he bothered to re-tie himself before visiting Evander’s tent? 

But wait. It had been dark in the tent. Too dark to see anything the moonlight - or Laurent- didn’t allow. 

His thoughts were interrupted when Laurent nudged him in the back, towards Evander’s own horse.

“You’ll notice it's much easier to mount when one’s ankles are untied,” Laurent said, helping him maneuver his unbalanced body up onto the saddle. Then he cursed. “I almost forgot something. Wait here, would you?” 

Since it was more or less suicidal to flee on a horse with one’s hands tied, Evander complied. Laurent turned around and went into Toribio’s tent. He emerged with the hollow remains of his jacket. As he shrugged it on, he bent down and picked up his book. 

He dropped the metal plate to the ground and re-tucked the leather binding, smoothing it back down. The gesture almost seemed apologetic.

 

******

 

Evander had seen the new palace at Delpha several times before. It was such a monolith that any Delphan was bound to see it looming on the horizon if the sky was clear. The hybrid of Akielon and Veretian architecture was a stunning combination, with its huge watchtowers, spired roof tops, and silk flags dancing in the breeze. 

They passed many soldiers and courtiers on their way to the palace stables. Oddly enough, none of them made any comment at the sight of the Veretian King riding past them with a dirty, tied-up peasant on a strange horse. They simply bowed and moved out of his way. 

The palace halls were just as breathtaking as the exterior. They were practical in the Akielon style, with occasional dashes of Veretian frill thrown in: tasteful crown molding, platinum chandeliers, colorful murals depicting the most fabled Akielon and Veretian legends. For once, Evander was grateful to see some Veretian excess, because it helped distract him from the fact that King Laurent was very likely walking him to the chopping block. Or the dungeon, which was very likely to lead to the chopping block soon after. 

And then they rounded the corner and the throne room was in front of them, a massive cavern of glistening white marble and billowing, gauzy silks of bright red and sapphire blue. At the end of a long crimson carpet were two gilded thrones. They were identical save for the silk banners thrown over the high headrests: a blue starburst banner on the left throne, and a red lion banner on the right. 

King Damianos sat in the lion throne with his face in his hands, looking into his leather-skirted lap. It was the posture of a man who was tired, desperate, or both. Despite how this endeavor had turned out, it felt like a small victory to see that King Damianos was indeed devastated by his lover’s disappearance. At least that was one thing Evander had been accurate about.

Then King Damianos looked up. All of Evander’s thoughts were swallowed by protocol. 

He sank to his knees, barely noticing the pain when they struck the marble. “Exalted!” he said. His voice broke and it came out sounding like a wheeze. 

“Hello, lover,” Laurent called, striding past Evander into the girth of the throne room. He gave no regard to the line of armed guards standing at attention on either side. “Thinking too hard?” 

“Laurent?” King Damianos asked, blinking hard.

Evander waited for Damianos to rise to his feet and run to Laurent, the way any desperately relieved man would. He did not. He only sat there, legs splayed, massaging his temples and looking confused.

“I thought you said you had some business to take care of?” he asked.

“I did,” said Laurent. He pointed over his shoulder with a thumb, indicating Evander. “He was the business.”

King Damianos only spared a second-long glance at Evander before looking back at Laurent, his brow wrinkled. “You said you’d be gone for several days.”

“I miscalculated. Akielon criminals are a lot stupider than Veretian ones. I'm not surprised.” Laurent cocked his head. “What, would you have preferred I be gone longer?”

Damianos looked offended. “Of course not.”

He stood up, his red satin cape unfurling behind him. It flapped in his wake as he descended the three shallow steps that led up to the thrones. Evander was sure he could hear the chandeliers shaking with his every step. After a moment, he realized that the crashing sound he heard was his own heart, which was doing a percussion number on the inside of his ribs. 

Evander tensed, sure that the King’s heavy footfalls would stop in front of him. Instead they stopped several feet short of him, in front of Laurent. 

Damianos raised one massive hand and placed it on Laurent’s cheek, where the bruised cut was. “Your face.”

“It isn’t so bad,” Laurent said, raising his own hand and placing it over Damianos’s. He squeezed it minutely before removing it from his face and clasping it in the small amount of space left between them. “It was as I expected.” 

“Oh, really? You didn’t mention that when you told me you were going to investigate the highway robberies. You told me it would be a smooth maneuver. That I didn’t need to--” 

Laurent laughed softly. “You are overreacting. I’m still pretty, aren’t I?”

That stopped Damianos’s rant mid-word. He raised Laurent’s hand and planted a chaste kiss on the knuckles. “Undisputably.” 

They stepped closer and began talking to each other in hushed voices. Normally, Evander would have strained to hear them, because they were almost certainly talking about him. He was too disoriented. There was the odd sensation that the world had been picked up and revolved; as though his life were being subjected to a sudden change of props. 

_ It was as I expected,  _ Laurent had said. Evander remembered his expression when he'd looked up and seen an armed Evander at the top of the stairs of the Artesian watchtower: bored, unimpressed.  _ You said you'd be gone for several days,  _ Damianos had said.

Evander felt the blood drain from his face. If anyone had been ambushed here, it certainly hadn't been Laurent. 

“This one’s like you,” King Laurent said loudly, in an oily drawl of distaste. He was gesturing at Evander. 

King Damianos smiled. “Oh? How so?” He seemed strangely amused.

“Honorable to a fault,” King Laurent replied, returning the smile.

The two Kings gazed at each other, smiling, for what felt like many seconds too long. Evander wished more than ever that he were somewhere else, and not just because there was a very real chance he was about to be executed. It felt like he was intruding on something intensely private.

“Not honorable enough, if he took the bait,” King Damianos finally said. Just like that, the smile melted into a frown. He swung his eyes over to Evander. The twinkle of good humor died and was replaced by a flinty glare of fury.

Damianos let go of Laurent’s hand and stepped over to Evander, stopping in front of him. Evander felt like the floor was dropping out from underneath him. One of King Damianos’s feet alone seemed big enough to crush his head. 

“Rise,” Damianos said. He didn't raise his voice, but he didn't need to - it was so powerful, booming, even, that it could probably be heard three rooms over. 

Evander stood. He kept his head bowed, as was proper, but he wished more than anything that he could see Damianos’s face. 

“You realize the penalty for laying hands on a King, don't you?” Damianos asked.

Evander let out a shuddery breath. “Yes, Exalted.” 

“Beheading. In the middle of the courtyard, where everyone can see. Your head will be placed on a spike outside the gate. A warning for any other fools.” 

Evander tried to swallow back the prick of tears that surged to his eyes. He was not successful, and watched helplessly as the tears broke from his eyelids and rolled down his nose, pattering on the plush crimson carpet. 

“For particularly heinous offenses,” Damianos continued, “Drawing and quartering is often employed. We use the slowest, fattest horses in the kingdom, so it's particularly agonizing and-" 

King Laurent sighed loudly. “That’s enough, Damianos.” 

Damianos turned to Laurent. Unable to help himself, Evander looked up as well. Sometime in the past minute or so, Laurent had crept up the dais and sat on his throne. It wasn’t a sit so much as it was an elegant slouch. The high windows cast sunlight on him from above, drawing attention to the bags under his eyes. He looked exhausted. Between conversing with Evander and accosting his brothers last night, he probably hadn’t had much time to sleep. 

“You've made your point,” Laurent continued. “Now stop. We don't want him pissing himself all over our brand new floors.” 

To Evander’s surprise, Damianos laughed. “I’m only telling him the truth. These are the punishments for treason, are they not?” 

King Laurent glared. It was the terrifying ice chip glare, but Damianos appeared to endure it with ease. “I told you, we are making an exception.”

“I know that. But he hurt you. Forgive me if I can't help torturing him a little.” 

“Technically, he's not the one who hurt me. You'll get to meet that one soon enough. You may torture him to your heart’s desire.” 

Evander’s heart was thudding uncontrollably, even as Damianos turned away from him so abruptly that his red cloak snapped in the air.  _ Toribio.  _ He was going to be sorry for every blow he had rained on King Laurent’s lovely face. The brief prick of fury that had shone in Damianos’s eyes was proof of that. 

When he came back to himself, King Damianos was once again sitting on his throne. This time, he had adopted a somewhat different posture, his legs spread in a languorous sprawl. His right arm was outstretched so he could lay his hand atop King Laurent’s, which was delicately balanced on the armrest of his own throne. The identical gold bands on their wrists lay one on top of the other, glistening in the ebullient light. 

He, a thief, a failed sailor, an ex-slave trader, was being stared at by two Kings. 

He sank back to his knees. “Exalted!” 

It was silent. He could hear distant, murmured conversations and shuffling footsteps from the surrounding hallways, typical palace noise. Beyond that, wind chimes, tinkling a simple song to complement the rhythm of the breeze.

“Well?” asked King Laurent. 

Evander hitched in a breath. It was improper to look the King of Akielos in the eye, so he looked up at King Laurent instead. Gazed into the placid blue eyes. 

“You come before us with a petition,” Laurent said. “You, an ex-slave trader, down on his luck. Your life disrupted, derailed. Your family driven to a life of dishonor. You seek the succor of the crown?” 

Evander blinked. His mouth opened and closed, searching for a question, but there were so many he wasn’t sure which one to ask. 

_ You could have gone to King Damianos and petitioned for assistance, _ King Laurent had said last night, the moonlight casting him in a ghostly pallor.  _ You underestimate the man’s ability to grant a second chance.  _

Evander took in a breath and, after a few stuttered words of gratitude, began to speak. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I hope this makes sense . . . it’s very hard to explain Laurent’s schemes from the POV of a simple thief. So I decided I’d leave much of it up to the reader’s imagination. I didn’t want to over explain! 
> 
> I also could not figure out how to end this story. I often do that to myself, because I am terrible at plotting things. So hopefully the ending is somewhat satisfying. 
> 
> Thank you for reading!


End file.
